


All the Damn Vampires

by LithiumDoll



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LithiumDoll/pseuds/LithiumDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things: glittering skin, cape, fangs. Wolves howling on the roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Damn Vampires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your treat and have a great Yuletide!
> 
> Beta: Thank you so much Glittertine!

“Wow, _someone_ looks like they partied all night and slept all day.” Peralta winced and shook his head rapidly. “No, that was terrible. Do over.” He grinned in wide-eyed delight. “Say it! Say ‘ _I vant to svuck yvour blood_. Blvood? _Bvlood_.’”

Santiago’s mouth dropped open and she stared at him, paling in horror. “Why - why would you do that to an innocent consonant?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault Diaz’s glittering.”

“Ladies glow, Jake,” Boyle chided. “Gentlemen glitter. Or is it horses?” He snapped his fingers. "Definitely horses."

Diaz crossed her arms. “I want to beat your ass. Close enough?”

“Do I look like a cheeseburger? Say I look like a cheeseburger. Wait.” Peralta waved his arms to catch Holt’s attention as he left his office. ”Captain! Captain! Diaz needs to switch shifts _, she muvst bve hvome befvore sunvrise_.”

“Detective.” Holt, Terry in his wake, came to a halt before Diaz and calmly catalogued her appearance. “Pale. Shimmering-”

“Oh,” Boyle said, “Good word - much better.”

“- Cape. Fangs. Wolves howling on the roof. As there are eighty-nine days and four hours until Halloween, I must conclude this involves your work with the Brooklyn Big Brothers program.

“As you’re aware, I strongly support your commitment to the community, however-”

“I’m a vampire,” Diaz interrupted.

“Pardon me?”

“I’m a vampire,” she repeated, flatly.

“Yes, that’s what I thought you said.” Holt considered her. “I see.”

“Have you tried not being a vampire?” Terry asked nervously from behind two clipboards, entirely coincidentally held in the shape of a cross.

“Sergeant, I pride myself on this precinct’s inclusive hiring practices.” Holt held his hand out for the Holy clipboards.

“Yes, sir,” Terry agreed, reluctantly handing them over. “But those hiring practices do assume that the employee is alive.”

“I’m alive.” Diaz’s scowl, somehow - possibly through supernatural means - deepened.

“You’re _living_ ,” Santiago corrected hesitantly, with the beginnings of an apologetic smile. “But I’m not sure, technically, that you’re alive. You’re the undead. You have no pulse.”

Diaz’s hands curled into fists. “Your _face_ has no pulse.”

“That makes no sense!”

“Actually, it does,” Gina said, irresistibly drawn by the loud noises, the drama, and by soul-destroying boredom. “Unlike Scully, you don’t have a pulse on your face, but you do have one in your neck. Riiiiight heeeere.” She pointed helpfully, with both index fingers, to Santiago’s jugular.

“Wait. What? This is real? You’re _actually_ a vampire. A vampire detective?” Peralta’s smile faded a touch. “That’s been done - have you considered vampire ballerina?” He couldn’t seem to help adding.

“I knew this would happen.” Rosa tightened her crossed arms defensively. “You’re always saying I don’t talk about myself enough. I reveal _one_ personal thing and everyone goes crazy.”

“In our defense,” Terry pointed out, “that thing is that you’re an unholy, blood sucking creature of the night.”

“I don’t suck blood. That’s gross. I use a straw. It’s like syphoning gas.”

“Except it’s not gas,” Peralta said, smile fading completely. “It’s a precious, rare, ever more expensive – yeah, even as I say it...”

“Whatever. Can I get back to work now?”

“That depends.” Holt nodded towards the one mostly silent member of the group gathered around Diaz’s desk. “Why is Boyle eating that insect?”

“You know, they’re surprisingly tasty. And full of protein,” Boyle mumbled around a cockroach. “And with the current population growth, we’ll all be eating bugs in a few more years.”

“But you’re eating them _now_.” Peralta took a step away.

“Why are you looking at me?” Diaz demanded as all eyes turned towards her. “Maybe he found a new popup restaurant.”

Boyle gazed adoringly at Diaz and sidled closer, still chewing.

After a moment of silent communion with the squad, involving a few pointed looks and several shrugs, Holt nodded. “The behavioral evidence is circumstantial and not without precedent. There’s no way to determine if Boyle is under thrall or simply infatuated and experimenting with cuisine, as was the case in February and, more recently, last week.”

“You know,” Hitchcock said, also chewing, “it’s really not bad. Once you get past the twitching.”

“Yeah,” Peralta said, turning a new shade of green. “I’m rooting for thrall. Yay thrall! Go thrall!”

“I have a question,” Gina said, raising a perfectly manicured hand. “Who made you?”

There was a narratively indescribable noise behind them. “It’s weird,” Jake said, “but that sounded exactly like a cloud of bats appeared from nowhere and reformed into the shape of a woman.”

They turned.

“Good evening, Raymond.” Wuntch stalked forward, her long, midnight-black robes sweeping the floor.

Holt nodded in more or less civil greeting. “An interesting new hairstyle.”

Wuntch smiled with a hint of fang. “You like it?”

“I’ve always had a fondness for the Sydney Opera House and you appear to be wearing a scale model over each ear.” Holt managed a thin, humorless smile. “Why are you here?”

“We have an appointment.” Wuntch swayed closer, hypnotic as her lips parted and her fangs lengthened. “We have always had an appointment.”

“Is that a threat?” Holt took a measured step forward as Terry cast desperately around for a wooden chair he could relieve of its stakes. Legs. Whichever. Stupid metal chairs and their stupid metal stakes.

Gina cleared her throat. “Actually, you do have an appointment.” She held up the day planner, where the day and time was circled in deep red ink.

“There’s no name,” Holt said.

“I know how much you like surprises.”

“I do not like surprises.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Gina beamed. "You're welcome." She headed back towards her desk, humming happily, her work done.

“Your quarterly financials were a disgrace, Raymond. But I presume you don’t want to discuss them out here, in front of the few people who respect you and misguidedly assume you know what a split infinitive even is?”

Peralta and Santiago considered Diaz as Holt’s door closed and shadows filled the windows like ink in water.

“Soooo.” Peralta glanced at Santiago, then back to Diaz. “You know what I’m going to ask. I mean, we’re friends. I don’t have to … actually say it, right?”

Diaz rolled her eyes. “Fine. _I vant to suck your blood_.”

“ _Yes!_ ”


End file.
